Here’s the whole story what sum a ya missed out on. It all started back in January, I believe it was. Sum a the Californie boys and girls ahaided East ta meet up with our Arizona fambly at the li’l whistle-stop a Quartzite ta take advantage a the huge, ol’, mile-long tradin’ post thar.

Yessir, long ‘bout that time each year, thar’s big doin’s out that-a-way. Yep, an’ hundreds a suttlers AN’ SETTLERS afinally gits them’s wagon-fulls a goods outchere from back East an’ ameets right thar after acomin’ North up from Texas on the “Southern trail” ta ‘void the snows. An’, we knows that if we ahaids off them wagons out thar, we kin git the best pickins ‘afore they pulls up stakes an’ continues on ta Los Angelees, Virginie City an’ San FRANcisco.  An’ hail, They throws up buildin’ fronts an’ opens saloons, hotels, bath houses, bordellos an’ opium dens, everwhar…all the comferts a home.

‘Course, fer yew new members: ya gots ta know, we been usta pullin’ our guns an’ ahelpin’ usselves, heh, heh. But NOT THIS YEAR. Nosir. They’s finally on tew us. Tew many lawdogs, outa-work bounty hunters an’ Pinkerton boys all with eyes appealed fer the likes a us. Tho, we’s all larnt ta drink with our left hands ba now sos nobody’ll git the drop on us, has ya ever tried ta run, jump up an’ aslide inta the saddle from behind, amakin’ a git-away with yer pants down. Don’t work as well as when they’s up an’ yer sober, I’ll tell ya. I don’t even wanna paint no pitcher fer ya a whar that could go. Wy, let’s jus’ say, with almost no notice, them mounts could leave a feller aflat on his face in a cloud a dust…an’ DID. Shameful… fer a bunch a genuwine cowboys like us, I’ll tell ya.

Yessir, this year, we was prepar’d ta put on our best “townsfolk” faces an’ jus’ abarter fer stuff. Wy, we was on vacation. An’, as yew knows, we had whole trunkfuls a eggsquizit, Injun goods what we had ackwired when we was avisitin’ alla them tribes alookin’ ta git back our stolen barrels a whiskey an’ sides a salt-beef last year. We didn’t hold ‘em up er nuthin’. Them silly, skeered sons-a-bitches jus’ ahanded it all over sos maybe we wouldn’ shoot up them’s camps, wimmens an’ kids, dontcha know?

Hail, we wouldn’ a done nuthin’ a the kind… Jus’ shoot the shit outa them sneaky, dang ones of ‘em what astole life’s necessities like whiskey, beef, an’ the Captain’s tent (what he was asleepin’ in at the time. ‘Member? Humiliatin’ an’ life threatenin’ at the same time, it was). Woulda been justified, we woulda.

Anyhow, like I sez, with all them “’thoritees” ahangin’ ‘round afrownin’ an’ ascannin’ the crowd  a other first-comers like usselves, as they was, we knew our boys wadn’ agonna dew no mischief. Nosir, an’ instinktively, thems all adusted ‘emselves off good an’ aswapped them’s “wide-brims” fer cityfied tophats an’ bowlers an’ athrowed away them’s crusty, ol’ bandanas. Even Smokey Jack done shed that water-damaged, ol’ leather vest-a-his with the beer stain “landscapes” an’ drool on it, tho I reckon, he felt nakid without it. ‘Course, he still had on a “sweatvest” what had the same look…till it dried, that is. Word has it, he even took off ten er so guns an’ aleft ‘em in the locked trunk. Now, that’s a first…

‘Course, our wimmens, all the wives an’ sweet-tarts, amade the trip East er West fer this here adventure in shoppin’-does-the-bar-shit-in-the-woods?. An’, all thems was adecked out in fluff an’ finery the likes a which we haint never seen ‘afore as ifn thems was ahaidin’ tew a catillyun er sump’um. Even a Easterner coulda mistook Miz Nellie Belle, Peppershot Patti er Leadbottom Lucy fer proper types the way they was alookin’…but, a’course, ta the detreement a them’s pocketbooks, I reckon. Wouldn’ ya figger? Lucky Sumtymes an’ the Coyote Kidd was the only ‘ceptions. Them boys was danged if they was agonna look differ’nt fer ‘pearances sake even tho it was Captain’s orders. “We aint agonna be no part-time pussies,” they sez. An’ ol’ Lucky even refused ta part with his famous, tore-up, “signature” hat er crossed bulletbelts. Awww, who coulda cared, anyhow?

Now, what we found out was that sum interprizin’ whiskey traders an’ cattle baron spekyoolators agots ‘emselves together last year an’ figgered on acashin’ in on allll that merchandisin’ madness. An’, like I sez, them athrowed up a actchool main street-of-a-dang town with a real bank, grand hotel WITH a ‘back stair”, a ‘spress office, a jail, a laveesh, “re-spectable” saloon an’ sum fine eatin’ places. ‘Magine that. Put Quartzite on the map, them builders did, from that day forward. Even put a li’l white church down on the end jus’ ta please that whole raft a proper folks, mostly ladies an’ famblies, I’d ‘spect.

An’, as yew’d ‘spect like in MININ’ boomtowns with thousands a folks afightin’ over the latest French fashions an’ new stuff fer the kitchen outa them storefronts an’ offa the backs a wagons, lawless types ashowed up. Gunslingers, an’ gamblers, an’ swindlers, an’ horsethiefs, an’ rustlers an’ brawlers, an’ pickpockets, an’ tinhorns a all sorts was atryin’ ta take over OUR reg’lar “marketshar”. We was pissed but, tough as it was not ta have it out with sum of ‘em, the Muleskinners all akept them’s haids an’ jus’ awent ‘bout them’s business abarterin’ shit fer shit. …All ‘cept Lucky an’ Coyote, that is.

Yep, unlike sum a the rest a them “roped” boys what was alead ‘round by the ear ta bargain after bargain by them’s wimmens, wyyy, the tew a them was “allowed” ta spind the whole time in that fancy saloon, “the Yankee Clipper”, I was atellin’ ya ‘bout. Now, aint that a posey?

Buttt, as yew’d ‘spect after a whiskey er tew, they astarted abraggin’ on us an’ atellin tales ‘bout Muleskinner mischif, but without refurrin’ ta us by the name a the group, y’unnerstand. Raw instinkt as a PROfessional outlaw would keep a feller from adoin’ a dang fool thing like that. An’, soon they had attracted this whole raft a entertained an’ applaudin’ onlookers…an’ not ta mention a few raised eyebrows, tew, the idiot sons-a-bitches.

Well, all them folks from backwoods farmers ta the mercanteel traders ta snake oil salesmens ta cagey, dang cardsharps was alaughin’ ‘emselves silly ta hear a such exploits. An’, even when the ol’ fart piana player asat down ta finger them keys, yew’d ‘spect Lucky ta stop with that shit. But when Lucky Sumtymes agits agoin’, thar’s no astoppin’ ‘im. Y’all kin attest ta that. Wyy, without amissin’ a beat, he grabs up ol’ Coyote an’ them tew fools astart awaltzin’ ‘round the room which ‘mediately brings down the house, dontcha know? Folks was alaughin’ an’ aslappin’ them’s knees an’ afallin’ on each other.

Yessir, all them boys was ahavin’ a grand ol’ time. All that is, ‘cept five on’ry, drunk ol’ cowboys what seemed ‘bout three months out on a cattle drive from the look of ‘em. Apparntly, them nasty cusses was jealous over the attintion our boys was agittin’ an’ was ahootin’ ‘em an’ acallin’ ‘em “sissies” an’ tryin’ ta goad ‘em intew a brawl. ‘Course, our own Rattlesnake Rick an’ Buffalo Shiloh was asittin’ right thar injoyin’ the antics (an’ them tew had jus’ astarted drinkin’). But, hail, achucklin’ as they was, they was nervous an’ was afixin’ ta pull them tew, drunk yarn-spinners outa thar when they heard shore-fire, incriminatin’ shit acome outa them’s moufs. Yep, jus’ before the music astarted an’ them’s begun ta dance.

But when Lucky’s attintion was finally got by them cowpokes, he, natcherly, whipped them guns out quick-as-a-wink with a mind ta blast four out a the five of ‘em clean over the dang bar like shootin’ gallery “varmints”…an’ Coyote, he had gots the drop on the fifth. But as luck would have it, our “sobers” was poised an’ atackled them tew jus’ in time an’ ahauled ‘em outa thar. Good thing. We woulda had us a war on our hands fer shur an’ alit usselves up good, we woulda.

Well, needless fer me ta say, when the bank was robbed early next mornin’, them law-types ayanked them tew good-fer-nuthin’s outa a sound stooper an’ ahauled ‘em off ta the “who’scow” an’ they come within a har’s breadth a gittin’ ‘em’s necks stretched. An’ them tew coulda ended it right then an’ thar fer ‘emselves, even, when Lucky atook a swing at ‘em. ‘Course, them marshals dropped his sorry self on his face in the dust good an’ proper. Coyote acaught hisself an’ decided he best go ‘long quiet-like.

An’ when Windy Bill, trailboss ‘acourse in the Captain’s absince, agots wind of it, he went ta gather all the Muleskinners fer a pow-wow ta decide what ta dew. But no one couldn’ find no one in that huge ol’ crowd an’ that li’l chore took the better part of a day ta git ta happenin’. That’s ‘cause everone was atellin’ everone ta “stay whar y’ar. We’ll be right back,” an’ off they’d go in all di-rections alead by that whole gaggle a frantic, worried wimmens. Shore easy ta see why menfolk is all the captains, ginerals an’ preseedents, wouldn’ yew agree? The “frail an’ coy” a the spe-shees jus’ oughter stay inside amindin’ the kitchen an’ the nursery ifn ya was ta ask any ones of us mens.

…The better part of a day, mind ya.

But by instinkt, the mens eventually gravitated ta the saloons an’ the wives an’ them shoulda  known THAT by instinkt. An’ as reg’lar, our boys was adoin’ yer normal double duty a supportin’ them grand bastions a mescalinity AN’ evesdroppin’ on other fellers’ conversations, ahopin’ ta git a laugh er ta give one.

An’ addin’ ta the commotion a not findin’ the mens er each other, Tuscon Pearl was afixin’ ta cruise out the doors a the hotel thar an’ overheard Windy Bill’s araised voice ayellin’ ta ol’ Sarg, “Good God, man, yew got scalped!!” Wyyy, ‘mediately, she shurly figgered he done lost his har on account a hims atryin’ ta sell Injun shit back ta Injuns an’ done went all ta pieces right thar. But, with tears astreamin’ down her cheeks, she raced back in ta see jus’ how bad he was hurt an’ tind ta that hellish gash. But them tew was gone, disappeared back inta the crowd, Bill acarryin’ Sarg, she s’posed, alookin’ ta find a sawbones.

An’ aballin’ sump’um fierce with her hands on her face, she’s arunnin’ up an’ down the street alookin’ this-a-way an’ that. Well, bye an’ bye, she aruns inta Cutter an’ atells her the news. An’ them tew aruns off an’ soon ameets up with Looziana Liz an’ li’l Katydid, her an’ Lucky’s li’l daughter.

An’ then, in the crowd, the four of ‘em ARUNS SMACK DAB inta the cruelest, meanest bunch a cattle drovers ya ever saw. Coulda give us Muleskinners a run fer our money, I’m told. “Wy, lookie what we gots here, boys,” one of ‘em sez. “Looks ta me like we gots four li’l fillies what couldn’ wait fer us ta git here an had ta run out ta meet us. Whaddya think? We was alookin’ fer a hot bath an’ a shave first but now, all that kin wait.”

An’, with that, tew a the bigger a them cowboys apicked ‘em up, one unner each arm. An’ them tew continued on up the street with petticoats ablowin’ up in them’s faces an’ the four wimmens ascreamin’ an’ akickin’ an’ aturnin’ red at abein’ the focus a such a shameful spectacle, afacin’ backwards, ahaidin’ up Main Street, like they was.

Annnn’, none a them proper folks wouldn’ dew nuthin’, jus’ stare with their moufs open an’ agit ‘emselves the hail outa the way. “Hey lefty, yer the oldest sos yew kin have the young’n here. I reckon she’s ripe fer the pluckin’.” Lefty laughs an’ reveals a few tobacky-stained broken teef. “On t’other hand, me,” sez Spike, one a the taller ones, “I likes ‘em with a li’l more meat on ‘em like this one here,” anodden ta Pearl’s splendid abundance ablossomin’ out from unner his left arm. “ Aint I jus’ what yew’s been alookin’ fer all yer life, Darlin’?” Wide-eyed Pearl is speechless much as she tries, without siccess, ta spill ‘er mind.

Now, our gals is aseethin’ an’ them’s faces is red as a beet. “Yew don’t have a clue a who yew’s adealin’ with, mister, ya filthy son-of-a-bitch, “ sez Cutter asputterin’ from unner his right arm. “Oh,” he sez, atossin’ his haid back with a mighty laugh, “Yew gots an ol’ man I gots ta contind with? Poor li’l feller, heh, heh.” (When last checked, I reckon Windy Bill astood ‘bout six-foot-five.)

“Put them whores down, damm ya,” comes a voice from the crowd. It was the trailboss. “Yew kin take up with them tarts later. We gots work ta dew. Now, turn ‘em loose.” “ Aw shit, all that kin wait,” sez Spike Minton, a reputed gunman in these parts what was acarryin’ Cutter an’ Pearl. “No it caint,” the boss replies.  “ Put ‘em down NOW, lest I take yer haids off with the butt a this here coachgun, savvy?” “Oh awlright, Jake,” sez Lefty. “We was jus’ ahavin sum fun, wadn’ we, Spike? Now, yew girls wait up fer us tonight ‘cause we’ll come alookin’ fer ya.” (Hail, I knows three fellers who would spind a whole case a cartridges on them tew in no time…‘bout eight hours.)

“Yew come alookin’ fer us an’ yew’ll have more’n yew kin handle, yewww scum!” ayells Cutter, aspittin’ mad an’ astraightenin’ herself out. They jus’ laughs. “Count on it, yew bastards!” echoes Liz. “I hate ta say it, ladies, but we got ta keep this under wraps an’ not tell the men or we’ll do nuthin’ but draw attintion tew ourselves. Maybe tew, sum a them lawmen might recognize our guys,” sez Cutter with the last word. “ Bite yer tongues, yew hear?

But back ta the “Muleskinner manhunt”. Ya know, no one stopped ta ask hisself who the hail it is, what, once he agits up on his barstool, rarly leaves his perch till the end a the evint. Wyyy, it’s Misfire Mel. Wy shore. Nobody thot ta check in with that ol’ boy. I’ll never figger out why ‘cause we ALWEEZ knows whar his skinny ass can be found, the dumb sons-a-bitches, all of ‘em. The truth is, he gathers information an’ dispinses it accordin’ly jus’ like a dang teleegraph. Annn, he’s the one what finally done tol’ alla them dunces whar the group was ta meet.

Jus’ so happened, ol’ Mel was asittin’ in on what turned out ta be a thirty-six hour poker game over in the hotel lobby. An’, not only is our weas’ly, li’l pard the best dang player the Muleskinners gots, but he’s known ta have the best “ears” IN A WHOLE GROUP A GOOD LISTENERS (an’ happ’ly mahried mens, mostly, I might add) . He AWLweez knows the ‘zact arrival times a all them gold shipments an such, don’tcha know? Years a practice alistenin’, I figger. Shoulda made a fine husband, hisself, but, sumhow er other, he done run off them heffers each time .

Anyhow, the young drover, asittin’ ta his right, was athrowin’ down a lot a whiskey an’ athrowin’ out a lot a chips an’ banknotes what he had no business a bettin’. An, he was abraggin’ like Lucky an’ Coyote done jus’ the day bafore. Wellsir, ol’ Mel gots hisself an earful alright, but wadn’t about ta step away from the table till he had alla the kid’s money in front a him. By ha’past the hour, the cowboy was thru an’, ’acourse, alookin’ fer a fight, took a swing at Mel, barly acatchin’ his nose an’ knockin’ him offa his chair onta the floor. An’ even bafore Mel could git his bandana up ta his nose, the kid got hisself athrowed out a the hotel inta the street. Good thing, ‘cause Mel woulda shot ‘im daid right thar whar he stood after atoyin’ with ‘im sum. It’s been known ta take him awhile ta git riled but it don’t take forever, ya know. But, Mel tells Purgatory ta trail ‘im ta see ifn whar he’s agoin’ an’ the bank money’s wharabouts is one an’ the same place.

‘Course, Purgie had been asuckin’ down his homemade whiskey all afternoon from a tube astickin’ out his collar an’ afartin’ on the public everwhar he went. (Not ta say that thar was bad whiskey he was asuckin’. It’s jus’ that it aplays hail with a man’s innerds, that’s all…an’ HIS gots ta be the worst thar is ta begin with, wouldn’ yew agree?

Good thing tew, ‘cause he couldn’ hardly see. Forchunit fer him, that whole raft a people agive him his due respect an’ aparted like a wake behind the young’un when they seen ol’ Purg’s “stumblin’ stenchness” acomin’ up Main Street. An’ the lad, drunk hisself, wadn’ seein’ the “show” agoin’ on bahind ‘im. An’, down a ways, he finally disappeared ‘round the side a the church. An’ Purg, abelchin’ bubbles, awatched him agoin’ in the back door an’ aheard a lot a voices inside.

Well, like the idiot what he is, he done propped up an ol’ chair ‘gainst the same door an’ asettled his ass inta it slow an’ easy sos he could put his ear ta the wood. Only thing is, as reg’lar, he passed out right thar an’ astarted amakin’ ahail of a racket asawin’ logs an’ afartin’ away.
But whatcha gots ta know ‘bout ol’ Purg is that he gots a ramarkable talent. He kin bullshit with the boys, apass out, an’ apick up the conversation next mornin’ jus whar he left off. ‘Mazin’ but woorfless…TILL NOW.

What he larnt before afallin’ off ta dreamland was that that droverboss an’ his boys was apullin’ cows up ta Virginny City from Texas an’ afiggered that this here bank would be easy pickin’s. An’ it was, ‘cause nobody was ‘spectin’ no holdup er nuthin’. Then, thems gots out jus’ enuf “play money” ta make a hail of a night of it an’ astashed the rest unner the alter. ‘Course, nobody’s in that church durin’ the week ‘cept Wensdie nights sos it was the perfect hideout. Purty smart.

An’ the boys inside, fer shur, aheard alla that noise outside but, Purg abein’ Purg, hail, he don’t even wait fer them ta open the door sos he kin afall in on ‘em. Nope, his girth done breaks apart the dang chair an’ him an’ the chair pieces abursts open the door ta twinty holsters abien’ relieved a twinty guns. But, they looks an’ looks an’ akicks an’ akicks the carcass s’fishent an’, without no more bother, ahauls his dead, drunk ass ta the empty trough out back. Then, they haids uptown fer sum fun. Lucky son-of-a-bitch what he was, he ahaided back ta Windy Bill with “the goods”, next mornin’.

Jus’ in time, tew, ‘cause they was afixin’ ta hang ol’ Lucky an’ Coyote Kidd next mornin’, soon’s the sun come up an’ they had ‘emselves a gallows built. An’ I heard the public was all ahavin’ trouble asleepin’ night before, at the thot a bonified innertainment on the horizon.  Down right gleeful, they was.
Wellsir, that “meetin’-a-ours” finally gots ta take place early on the evenin’ a the third day inta that “buyin’ bananza” an’ the mighty Muleskinner mental machin’ry was astartin’ ta kick in. Here’s the group, surrounded by this huge ol’ circle a pots, pans, powderpuffs, purfumes, plows, plates, pillas, pins, pistols, pipeweed, playtoys an’ packeeges a all kinds, I’m told, all fergotton fer the moment. Lotsa idears was aired by many incloodin’ apullin’ the jail ta pieces with ropes an’ hosses but no one couldn’ agree on no one s’lution.

Then Smokey Jack, astandin’ ta his feet, atakin’ the seegar outa his mouf an’ aspittin’, says, “Hold on here, folks, quiet down now. Way I see it, thar’s tew much law ‘round here fer us jus’ ta spring ‘em an’ git our asses the hail outa town. Unless alla us has at least a day’s ride on ‘em, a posse the size thems could muster, would shurly ketch up ta us an’ string us all up, ‘cept maybe the wimmens an’ li’l Katydid. ‘Specially, with all the shit we’s acarryin’ ta slow us down. No, we gots ta, sumhow, bring all them outlaws ta justice in order ta git Lucky an’ the Kidd back.”

“Now, I sint Purgie an’ Deadeye down ta the church ta git the drop on any cowboys what’s aguardin’ the money an’ atie ‘em up an’ gag ‘em. The rest a them boys is across the street ahavin’ taken over that smaller saloon thar. An’, I’d ‘spect that’s whar they’ll be fer a spell.”

“Deadeye come back ‘bout tin minutes ago an’ atells me the money’s still thar an’ the tew mens aguardin’ it is all tied up an’ hung on hooks in a big ol’ closet ‘long with them’s saddles an’ bedrolls. Purg aint back ‘cause he done gots hisself caught by the priest an’ he’s busy ‘splainin’ what he’s adoin’ down thar. Shore hope he don’t git arrested. Yew caint hardly bullshit no priest, ya know…them folks ahears it all.”

Now, Smokey astarts agrinnin’ sum an’ sez, “I gots an idear how we kin prove them boys is the culprits an’, at the same time, have a li’l fun. Whar’s White Hoss? Thar he is. Hoss, since yew’s one a the pre-meer bullshitters in the group, I gots an errand fer yew an’ Miz Dixie. ‘Course yew looks needy as hail but Dixie Bell thar agives yew a certain ‘mount a credence, I reckon. Right, folks, heh, heh?” (All laughs.)

“Now pay attintion. Y’all knows yew kin buy jus’ ‘bout anything in the world at one a these here gatherin’s. An’ when I sez anything, I means ANYTHING. Wouldya b’lieve thar’s a feller down the line atryin’ ta peddle a wagonload a dogshit an’ apass it off as fertilizer.” (Everone aroars with laughter.) “He mus’ figger Barnum is right… One a our wimmens, um, …Li’l Sis here, was apassin’ the time a day with HIS woman an’ afound out that he was in charge of a hunt club’s kennels with seventy-five er so dogs in his care, down in Presc’it er Bisby er one a them li’l towns. Well, ‘alla them hounds took ill,” she sez, “an’ no one couldn’ figger out what was ailin’ ‘em. Sos, he thot he’d jus’ shovel up all the shit he had an’ see ifn he couldn’ find a doc here in Quartzite an’ ahave him analyze it fer clues.’ But, hail, a whole wagonload? Musta had that second moteeve fer amakin’ the trip, the silly, ol’ doofus.”

“Jus’ what idiot son-of-a-bitch did he think he was agonna find ta take a wagonload a shit offa his hands ‘mongst all these savvy, genteel folks? Wy, A man like White Hoss, here, heh, heh.” (Everone roars an’ Hoss’s frown aturns tew a grin.) “I shore wish Griz was here with us on this trip. He’s the closest thing tew a real farmer we gots an’ ifn anyone knows the value a shit on a daily basis, he does, heh, heh.” (All laughs agin.)

“Go find the owner an’ tell ‘im yew’ll take all the shit an’ give him his wagon back. But use yer talents ta git the shit fer free, will ya? Have it hauled up next ta the saloon thar by eight o’clock tonight, okay? We’s agonna pull a new twist on an ol’ idear.”

“The rest a yew boys ameet me in front a the saloon at eight, tew. An’, alla yew wimmens, yew kin watch from the winders across the street fer safety’s sake. Ifn the shootin’ starts, y’all haid out the back door pronto an’ lay low. I’m ahaidin’ out ta find me a territorial marshall er tew.”
Well, come eight o’clock, our boys is emergin’ from the shadows on bofe sides a the saloon, aloaded fer bar. Smokey sez, “Okay Marshalls, yew tew wait here an’ watch. Gots me a few volunteers over thar what all sez they kin shoot a gun. Me an’ them is agonna have a li’l talk with the first twinty er so a them cowboys ta come out the swingin’ doors. Y’all won’t have ta dew nuthin’ but arrest ‘em. Yew’ll see.”

“Yew shore as hail better be right,” Mister, one of ‘em sez, “er yew’ll have sum serious ‘splainin’ ta dew ta them AN’ the judge, ifn yer wrong.” “No worries, Marshall,” sez Smokey agrinnin’ away. “Yew’ll see.” Now, a good-sized crowd a people has been agatherin’ fer fifteen minutes er so all curious ‘bout the strange goins’ on in front a the li’l saloon. Even Misfire Mel an’ them card players has stopped them’s game fer a spell an’ is apressin’ them’s noses ta the winders an’ ahangin’ out the double doors ta the hotel across the street with moufs open an’ eyes apeeled.

Smokey asticks his hand up. …Our boys is in the shadows, guns drawn, an’ atryin’ not ta laugh tew loud. …All’s quiet. Four Muleskinners aset fire ta four torches. …It’s tense an’ it’s time. …Then, on the count a three, Casino an’ Ricoshay aruns like crazy past them swingin’ doors ayellin’ as they come an’ Ric stops, abursts them doors aside an’ yells, “The church is on fire, the church is on fire!” An’ then, he gits his skinny ass outa the way jus’ in time ta keep from agittin’ stampeded by a raft a cowboys arushin’ thru them doors.

Wellsir, the first three is aslippin’, aslidin’ an’ adancin’ in all that dogshit as the whole bunch aruns inta the backs of ‘em, adrivin’ ‘em off the boards an’ onta the ground face-first. Whew! An’ the second wave of ‘em afalls on er atrips over the first an’ sum astarts goin’ thru the same dance routine till thems gits shoved inta the shit. Finally, when the last a them’s asses ahits the pungent piles, our boys give ‘em a minute er tew ta wallow awhile aputtin’ them’s braincells ta work ta figger out ‘zactly what-in the-hail is ahappenin’ tew ‘em. An’, another few minutes ta gits ta them’s feets which was a chore, fer shur. Then, ashakin’ the shit from them’s hands an’ atryin’ ta brush the “mashies” from them’s britches, they astarts cussin’ up a storm aginst them low-down skunks what done did this tew ‘em in front a all them town visitors (what’s aroarin’ with laughter at such a sight).

Then, our boys asteps out a the shadows with the drop on ‘em, sum alightin’ more torches. “Evenin’ boys,” sez Smokey Jack. “Y’all lose sump’um down at the church?” “That’s our loot,” ayells Spike Minton, agrabbin’ his mouf an’ acoughin’ an’ aspittin’.” “Really?” sez Smokey an’ the marshals alook at one another, eyebrows araised. “Yew fellers gots a strange way alettin’ off steam on a Saturdie night, but hey, whatever’s right fer ya.”

“(Sniff, Sniff). At least one a ya done shit his pants an’ don’t be atellin’ us otherwise.” (The crowd is a curlin’ over in laughter.) “Take out them guns slow an’ careful an’ adrop ‘em in the shit…er them worms won’t have no questions a which way ta go when y’all is six feet unner.”

“Well Marshalls, here’s yer bank holdup ‘specialists’ by them’s own words. Dew yer duty. I didn’t say nuthin’ ‘bout NO LOOT down at the church. I asked ‘em ifn they’d LOST SUMP’UM down at the church. One a our boys aheard ‘em atalkin’ ‘bout ahidin’ it thar, yesterdie. I’m shur the banknotes in them’s pockets’ll match the ones in the saddlebags unner the alter. An’ we all heard this idiot ablurt out sum purty incriminatin’ shit, didn’ we? Now, release them tew innocents over’t the jail.”

“Hey Marshall,” ayells one hail-of-a-stinkin’ trailboss, “Who’s agonna see ta our cattle?” “Don’t yew boys worry none ‘bout them cows. We’ll send sum boys out ta tind tew ‘em till after y’all gits a fair trial.”
Well, that was that. Ol’ Smokey was a bonnyfied HEro an’ hundreds a folks was ashakin’ his hand off an’ abuyin’ ‘im drinks all night. Finally eight er so a the Muleskinners adrug his wide, soggy ass off an’ almost all ahurt ‘emselves ahoistin’ ‘im up onta the back a Rufus T’s wagon, next day.

‘Acourse, that same night, the rest a the Muleskinners was akeepin’ them’s distance whilst acelebratin’. ‘Specially, when Smokey gots up on that gallows platform ta receive the handsum reward in bullion them business types had decided fer ‘im an’ ta receive the keys ta Quartzite with a cheerin’ crowd, ashowin’ them’s appreciation.

Yessir, An’ the stuffy, li’l mayor in the black tophat what was o’fishiatin’ was abraggin’ on ‘im sump’um fierce an’ our folks was alaughin’ an’ agaggin’ ‘emselves ta hear Smokey’s name aheard in the same company a words like “fearless,” “law-abidin’”, “…upstandin’ citizen,” an’ awwll that sappy crap. An’ shucks, he was sickenin’ modest tew, when asked ta say a few words. Muleskinners was afake-pukin’ with fingers down throats an’ all, amakin’ a hail-of-a racket an’ athrowin’ caution ta the wind, like they was… Dang dangerous ifn ya was ta ask me. But yup, I kin see: pukin’ was acalled fer, alright. “It wadn’t nuthin’…”, wyyyyyy, ta hear Smokey tell it, he was barly even thar.

Good thing thar was no newspaper types er photogerphers in town over them few days. Much as he didn’ mind abein’ famous an’ such, we didn’ need the ‘sposure, fer shur. Ya never knows when yer mug’s agonna show up on a wanted poster. An’, it aint like Smokey’s dainty girth ta ‘scape notice er nuthin’. Lucky an’ Coyote Kidd? Hail, the marshals an’ evint backers done kicked the shit outa thems sa bad ta git a confession, thar was no doubt that they wadn’ ever tha same agin. …Nope, they was BETTER, by golly an’ thar aint no disputin’ that. An’ not one a our folks afailed ta notice that ifn thar was shoulder, elbow er’ hand damage, it wadn’ agittin’ in the way ahoistin’ sum cheer, them tew grateful, ol’ drunks.

Our wimmens gots the biggest laugh a all outa alla thems goin’-ons, ‘acause a the threats, come-ons an’ insults thems was aforced ta suck up by them uppity, low-down, crusty sons-a-bitches. But hail, them boys REALLY didn’ know who they was adealin’ with an’ was dang lucky them’s didn’ decide ta push the issue. Them li’l “tomboys”-a-ours is sump’um agin, apackin’ iron sumwhar in’ all that finery. Wy, they kin shoot better than most a us mens an’, far back as I kin remember, none a them don’ tend ta take no shit, neither, not even Miz Eula ner Miz Sew‘n’Sew.

An’ White Hoss? He done had the marshals make them cowboys ashovel up alla that shit back inta the wagon ‘afore goin’ ta jail. Then, git this: he returned it an’ agots his money back, heh, heh. Pissed off, the owner was, I’ll tell ya. ‘Specially since Hoss didn’ pay nuthin’ fer it in the first place. That demented ol’ fool couldn’ rightly remember whether er not he had mentioned a money-back guarantee.

Deadeye? Oh, oh…, yep, that ol’ boy done completely fergot ta tell the marshals ‘bout them tew ‘ombres ahangin’ in the church closet. I’m shur, tho, it wadn’ long before the priest’s nose did…no more than five days, I reckon.
An’ ol’ Sarg? He didn’ really git scalped er nuthin’. Windy bill was jus’ agivin’ ‘im the business ‘bout the lonely tew er three strands he’s asportin’ up thar.

An’ Tucson Pearl? Wy, she gots a full on, red face.
An’ Ricoshay an’ Casino? They’s abusyin’ theyselves asprucin’ up them’s boots.
An’ Cutter, Liz an’ Katydid? Them’s is ahavin’ big ol’ iron toes asewed inta them’s li’l, lace-up shoes.
An’ Misfire Mel? Wyyy, y’all knows whar he is.
An’ Captain Ball? Wy, he been akickin’ hisself in the ass fer amissin’ this one.
An’ yores trooly, I’m aright thar with the Captain amakin’ a tew-man chorus line.
An’ the Muleskinners as a group? Thems jus’ disappeared in thin ar like they hadn’ never been thar.
An’ the gang a guilty cowboys? They was hung at dawn a day later…Our own Judge Jerry precidin’, heh, heh.
An’ Spike Minton, the cowboy “spokesman”? Never made it ta the gallows.
An’ the cowboys’ cattle? Disappeared, tew…, right inta thin ar accordin’ ta the marshalls’ statement in the newspapers from the surroundin’ counties when thems gots aroun’ ta printin’ it. Strange how that is…

An that, boys an’ girls, is the end a another “mighty Muleskinner grand caper”. I sincerely hopes I gots it right since I wadn’ thar this time, dang my fool hide. I ‘preciate the confidince y’all puts in me ta recount the doin’s this yar, out Arizona way, like ya has (even tho I’m shur as shootin’ I’m  only one a tew a us what kin write). Set me straight ifn I missed sump’um…But, can ya b’lieve it? NOT ONE SHOT WAS FIRED. Now, that’s a first

Yores,

Griz

P.S. Oh! An’ Purgatory? He’s still on his knees, I reckon, confessin’ his sins ta the priest back at the white church. An’ hail, it’s been three months now, heh, heh. Maybe we’ll afind ‘im thar next year at this time, heh, heh.

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